


White Wings

by Thealien



Series: Amari [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bath Sex, Canon Divergence, F/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealien/pseuds/Thealien
Summary: Amari takes care of Doctor Julian Devorak, because he won't take care of himself, and finally, the storm breaks.Set pre-game during the Plague times, spoilers for Asra's Julian's books XIII Death. Featuring Amari, the AFAB gender-neutral apprentice, probably breaks game-canon in terms of timelines and when different characters met.





	White Wings

It is a hopeless gesture, this. The woman’s eyes had gone blank nearly an hour ago, the body is just catching up to the soul, but if he kept busy here, he could avoid turning around to tell yet another too-young person that they are a widow. The fifth this week, twelfth the month. For newly married couples, that is. He doesn’t care to count how many widows are, en masse.

His hands are steady- he is a _doctor_ \- but they shake as the patient rattles out her last breaths. The force of her last gasp rocks her and then she is still, unmoving. A small, gloved hand touches her cheek. It brushes down to the pulse point at her neck, it shouldn’t be able to feel anything through the thick leather, but their magic can sense life. Or so they claim; what life could they sense in this city? A bird-skull mask looks up to him, message clear, and he gives a jerky nod at the confirmation he didn’t need. He steps back as they move forward and takes in a shuddering breath.

Doctor Julian Devorak watches, sightlessly, as the woman was efficiently wrapped in linen. Her face was obscured first, his assistant quick to break his staring contest with this newest corpse, and before he can even consider going to find the spouse, he finds himself out on the streets. Automatically, he checks the straps of his mask, ensuring it’s still tight to his face, and Amari adjusts his coat’s collar to cover the scant half-inch of exposed neck. Probably means nothing to the plague and the bloody bodies he’s been up to his elbows in, but it’s dreadful out and maybe it’ll let him keep some small twist of body heat.

A storm has been brewing for what seems like weeks and the air was bitterly, unseasonably cold; he can feel the sapping fog even through all the plague-protective layers.

            “I need t-” He starts but is startled silent by his own hoarse voice; a deceptively strong hand takes his and he stares down at the red-glass eyes of a plague mask.

If they survive this, he’d quite like to never see red again.  

            “I already spoke to the spouse, doctor.” Their voice is gentle as it assures him and they step closer to wrap an arm around his waist. “We can leave now.”

He lets them draw his arm around their shoulders and shuts his eyes as he’s guided away, trying not to sag into them too much.

He’s no desire to look around and see the ruin of this neighborhood, to be forced to catalogue once again the wreck of the plague. But there’s no escape, there never is. Even if there’s nothing he wouldn’t give to just curl up in a pile of blankets right now, preferably with present company, each patient has a whole family standing behind them.

Unbidden, a face swims in his mind. Brown eyes in a perfectly smooth face, no lines or wrinkles yet; the ring she wore had barely indented her finger. A fast marriage, he’d seen so many in times like these; when you don’t know how long you’re going to have, why wait?

But… why bother?

Numbly, he notes a strange sound, lilting, and it pulls him from his thoughts. He looks down to see Amari is singing, soft under their breath, as they practically carry him along; their voice is a little breathless and offkey, but an old sea song he knew well.

_“Sail! Home, straight as an arrow;_

_To where my dear heart, they wait for me,”_

Sea shanties shouldn’t be haunting. They’re shouted things, call-and-answer, for hearty sailors to keep in sync. He’s not sure if it’s the fog shrouding the street or the incorrect tempo, but they’ve turned an eager song of homecoming into…

_“Off! Now! Through waves that are crashing,_

_Sailors are dashing as we rush free,_

No. It’s not them doing it. It’s the city, dying. The sun doesn’t even shine properly anymore, the flowers barely bloom. It’s not _them_ that twists this song into the wistful ache for a home that can never be reached.

_“White wings, they’ll never grow weary,_

_Carryin’ me cheerily ‘cross the sea,”_

He swallows and his foot catches on a loose cobblestone, but he barely falls before he’s caught. They stop to straighten him up and he finds that he misses the song, a strange comfort in its bare longing. He lets the achy pang join the rest as he looks around with a frown.

The path to the clinic isn’t cobbled. With dim surprise, he realizes they’re not near the clinic at all. Going almost exactly the wrong way, in fact.

            “The clinic is-” The arm around his waist tightens and he looks down at them; they just resume briskly moving his unresisting body along.

            “The shop is closer.” They answer, not meeting his gaze, and something sticks in his throat; there’s a clear sadness in their voice, even as they try to hide it. “It’s late.”

He hadn’t been to the shop since… in a long while. Before the plague. But he’s in no position to refuse them, not when they’ve got such a grip. Not when he can still feel his latest failure’s last breath in his hands.

And then, he’s inside, with Amari efficiently disrobing him. He shivers as layers are removed and then he’s pulled through the chilly room up the stairs. They point him to a well-worn plush armchair and he sits; he and chair both let out a groan as he settles.

Amari busies themselves at the small stove on the far- but not very far- wall. There’re two covered pots there and a kettle; a fire flickers to life with a murmured word and he swears he seems something moving in the fire, almost… grinning?

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head softly. Clearly, he needs more coffee. Possibly even _actual_ sleep.

A moment later, his hands are taken out of his lap and made to wrap carefully around a steaming mug; he looks up to see an exceedingly soft smile on Amari’s face.

            “Drink, doctor.” They murmur, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, and he obediently takes a sip.

It’s warm, rich like coffee, but sweet instead. It tastes like… chocolate. Julian has no idea where they would have gotten chocolate at a time like this, the markets have been down to bread and, if you’re lucky, _fresh_ bread, for some time now. He takes another slow drink, shutting his eyes in silent pleasure, and thus misses the approving look from his host. Heat blossoms out from his chest, the drink chasing away the sapping cold. Amari’s fingers trail down his cheek and then they disappear. He opens his eyes just in time to see them slipping behind a corner, down a narrow hall.

Left alone, he curls up more in the chair, noticing for the first time that they have not just taken his overcoat but his waistcoat as well, leaving him only in his trousers and undershirt. And barefoot, apparently. He frowns down at pale feet before looking around the room, slightly more alert this time.

It’s not much different than when he last was here, oddly. Since they had both acquired and lost a… roommate in that time. But the same overstuffed bed sits in the corner of the room, surrounded by overflowing bookcases that were a concussion hazard if he ever saw one. Draped cloth decorated the low rafters, which for some awful reason _also_ had books and stacks of seemingly random items on them. The only difference is a new- well, new _ish_ \- chair in the corner of the room.

Or, he thinks it might be a chair. It’s buried underneath such a mountain of cloth that it could very well be just a chair-shaped pile. Part of him wants to investigate, Amari tends towards clutter but that is well past their usual, but the rest is simply too comfortable here, in the quickly warming air.

So, he leans back in his chair, enjoying the luxurious drink, and studies the pile from a distance. It appears to be mostly clothes, with quite a few scarves, all shades of red, and understanding flashes as he recalls a certain missing magician.

Those must be Asra’s things. He scowls a moment, recalling the overly casual way Amari had explained away his absence, and the sadness that rarely, but not rarely enough, comes over their face. Footsteps clip up the stairs and he smooths his expression reflexively. He turns to see Amari carrying a tray with bowls and cutlery, along with a crusty-looking loaf. Their eyes flick to his mug, meaningfully, and his lips twitch into a smile as he takes another drink.

Apparently satisfied, they turn their back on him to bustle about the stove. Steam curls the air as a pot is uncovered and the smell of stew immediately fills the room. Julian has to bite his tongue to contain a grunt as his stomach cramps; he hadn’t realized he was hungry. Or… starving, more accurately.

He had just eaten porridge this mor-, no, that was yesterday. For… lunch?

He dismisses the thought and drains the rest of his mug, chasing the last dregs. Amari has an air of calm concentration as they turn, tray stacked high. He watches, with a small amount of wonder, as they take the few uneven steps back to him and then drop gracefully- for them, that is- to their knees.

If he had any doubts about their magic, they would be dispelled by the fact that not a drop spills. The bowls don’t even so much as rattle. They set the tray on the ground and then take his empty mug to replace it with a bowl filled to the brim with a thick, meaty stew, followed by a large chunk of bread.

Amari settles on the ground at his feet, twisting to lean against his legs, and he smiles at the messy tufts of hair sticking every which way. Their head falls back a bit as they sigh and he has the sudden bizarre urge to muss up their hair even more.

He had intended to get up, offer them the chair, but he has no magic to steady the over-full bowl and their warmth pressing into his shins feels oddly comforting. They clearly have no objections to being on the floor as they straighten up and start eating. He takes a bite of stew and his eyes shut of their own accord; though normally stews made from dried meats are tough and overly salted, this one tastes heavenly. It’s all he can do to not just scarf it down.

It’s been a while since he ate anything hot, and longer still for it to taste good. He wants to savor this.

The pair eat in silence, just the clinking of spoons against bowls. Amari finishes first and rises with a stretch, bones popping in a way that Julian would be a tad concerned about, if skeletal structure hadn’t fallen entirely off the list of worries.

They slip down the hallway again after giving him a fond look and he drags the crust of bread through the bowl, ensuring all remains of stew are eaten. No way to know when he’ll next get so hearty a meal.

He hears, distantly, the sound of running water and, belly full and body finally warm, he finds that he feels alive enough now to satisfy his curiosity. He pushes himself to his feet and sets his bowl on top of theirs, frowning a moment at the precarious pile of books they’re using as a table. Then he follows the sound of splashes, having to duck twice to avoid low beams.

Absently, he wonders if the cloth decorations are actually there to cushion one’s head if they’re not paying attention. Amari may be shorter than your average child, but both their aunt and Asra could actually reach the top shelves. Actually, now that he thinks about it: does Amari even know there’s stuff on these beams? Those could very well be things their aunt had hid out of their sight years ago. He files this thought away to make fun of them later, should he get a chance.

Julian finds Amari kneeling before a tub, hand dancing in the water. Something shimmers in the water, chasing their hand, and he watches curiously. The water froths and then bubbles as the scent of salt and familiar green herbs suddenly swirls in the air with the start of steam. He blinks and then stares.

            “You’re using magic… to prepare a bath?” He asks, surprised, and they twist their head to him, a smile playing at their lips.

            “As fun as carting buckets of water is, yes, Julian, I am using magic for bath. For you, actually.”

They stand, shaking their damp hand out, and water fizzles off their skin. He recovers from his shock, sliding on a salacious smile.

            “Careful, Amari. People might start talking, you using my actual name again, not to mention kidnapping me.” They laugh and his grin turns a little more genuine. “Or is that your plan? Seduce me with your magic bathtub?”

            “What magician would give up their secrets so easily?” Their eyes are alight with amusement and Julian slides off the wall to step into the room properly.

            “A poor one.” He agrees and stops just in front of them, glancing down at the water again. “Though if I may ask one secret…” They incline their head. “Am I fated… to bathe alone?” He spreads his arms out, mock supplication.

He gets an eyeroll at that before, suddenly, he also gets them pressing against his chest, tilting their head back to look up at him. Their hands are hot, magical heat not quite gone yet, and his shirt is far too thin to protect him against the searing touch.

Not that he _wants_ that “protection”, mind.

            “That… is up to you, _Julian_.” His reply catches in his throat at their proximity and then they duck under his arm, heading out the door before he can speak. “I’m grabbing some nightclothes, you get in that tub!”

He turns to stare at the space they had just occupied and then sighs, shaking his head. Always flitting back and forth; it was like trying to catch a butterfly. One that would edge closer and closer, inviting, and then dart away to laugh.

Infuriating.

…Addicting.

Julian turns back to the tub and studies the inviting water. It was clear and smelled fresh, the sparkle of mint and something earthy. He slips a thumb in the waistband of his pants and glances to the door, feeling the edge of nerves. But he shakes it off and quickly undresses. He’s not so shy he’d turn down a hot bath. Not when the last one was… He shakes that off too with a grimace. He piles up the dirty clothes- and now that he’s out of them, it occurs just how filthy they likely are- and then steps into the tub, hissing.

Amari’s heated it just a touch too much, his skin pinking in protest, but it stings in such a delightful way, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through him. He sinks into the tub, careful not to let it overflow, and lets his eyes drift shut. He takes in a slow breath and an unconscious smile finds his face. He can hear shuffling footsteps return to the bathing room and a sharp rap on the wall.

            “How scandalized will you be if I come in?” A call when he doesn’t reply and he opens his eyes to give them a slow smile over his shoulder.

Unexpectedly, they flush, shifting with the bundle in their arms, and he wonders briefly why bother knocking when the bathtub is perfectly visible from the doorway.

Their eyes look like they flit down his form, but he can’t be certain. Just very, very sure, and his smile widens.

            “It would be hard,” He drawls, eyes lidded as he pauses on that word. “To join me, if you’re in the doorway.”

They snort and he watches them as they move fully into the room. The bundle of clean cloth is set on a shelf, several things being shoved carelessly to the side to make room, and then they turn to consider him. He stretches out, wriggling in the tub under the guise of getting comfortable, and this time their eyes clearly linger on his chest before finding his again.

Amari steps smartly towards the tub and, for one delightful moment, he thinks they do intend to just crawl right in, but then they just reach past him for a jar. He would sigh again at the usual dance, his butterfly analogy flicking to mind again, but they’ve… done so much for him. And not just this, tonight, but joining him at the clinic, staying with him, going on house calls.

He couldn’t very well ask for _more_. What kind of a piss-poor thank you is reading attraction into friendship? Selfish, selfish thoughts.

            “Push forward.” They say, kneeling behind him, and he obliges wordlessly, lost in his thoughts.

But his mind goes suddenly blank when clever hands that he’s admired for… too long twist into his hair to massage his scalp and he has to bite by a low groan. He lets his head loll immediately, eyes shutting of their own volition.

Magic fingers, definitely, but he won’t be teasing them for _this_ anytime soon. He hadn’t even noticed the headache until it was being firmly pushed away from his temples, banishing the tension. Nice, to notice a pain by its absence for once, and he wants to be embarrassed at this, but he can’t imagine _resisting_ the pampering.   

Julian takes a deep breath and finally places the smell; he chuckles. This must be the soap that they use as well, and for a long time too. He could remember back, from _before_ , when they were just friends and the plague was a distant worry. Green herbs tickling his nose every time they leaned into him to grab his hand and run off or steal a hug. Though, then, he had had the crazy thought that it was their magic he was smelling.

            “What’s so funny?” Blunt nails scratch at his scalp, ensuring that he’s very thoroughly soaped, and he pushes into it, a silent request, granted, even though they both know he’s about to tease them.

            “Now you’re _marking_ me.” He explains and they roll their eyes before giving him a light shove forward, so they can rinse his hair. “Planning on scribbling ‘mine’ on my forehead, next?”

            “And if I am?” A mischievous retort and he’s saved from answering by the water being poured over his head, a hand shielding his eyes; magic bends the water away, not that he particularly notices.

He shoots them a look over his shoulder, feeling a warmth decidedly not from water, and gets a cheeky smile. Their hand slides down to cup his cheek and his breath catches at the open affection in their eyes.

            “That invitation to join you still open?” Julian swallows his surprise, and possibly his tongue, but there is playful intent clear on their face.

            “For you, my dear?” He manages to find words and spit them out, and in the right order too. “Always.”

Delight shines from them a moment and they hop back. He stares as they, unceremoniously, tug their shirt and start kicking off pants; it’s as graceful as they ever are, which is to say, rather like a newborn colt attempting to shuck off clothes. But still, it’s _them_ , and they’re almost nak- no, now they _are_ naked, and then they’re kneeling back at the edge of the tub, and he’s forgotten to move, and in his haste to make room, he splashes quite a bit of water out. He looks at them, stifling panic, but they’re just slipping into the tub beside him, politely not mentioning the small flood now trickling around the room.

            “Enchanted floor, Julian. Relax.” They sigh as they press heavily into his side.

They set their head on his shoulder and he freezes before very, very carefully, he lifts his arm and wraps it around them.

They had cuddled, before. Often, even, sometimes close to nightly. But clothed, always chaste, or well, as chaste as they ever were. Yet, tonight, they just slipped into his side like it was every day they shared a bathtub. Julian runs through every trick in his lengthy book to get his heartrate and breath under control and they thankfully seem quite content to just rest against him.

            “…You enchanted the floor?” He asks, when he’s sure his voice will be steady, and they hum.

He can feel an arm snaking around his waist, behind him, and if their eyes were open, he’s sure they’d be impish. It doesn’t do anything more inappropriate than skate along his lower back, but he shivers anyways.

            “No, my aunt did. I liked to splash in the tub when I was little. She swore up and down that I wouldn’t be happy until Vesuvia was reclaimed by the sea.” He laughs at that and their hand curls on his hipbone, thumb stroking lightly. “So, she charmed the floor so that water just pools on top. I’ll clean up any spills later.”

The tub is rather… definitively not meant for two. The water is licking at the top edge of the tub, warningly, and they’re as close together as two can be without being…

He presses his knees together, as smoothly as he can, and as much as he desires more contact, the swirl of panic curling in his stomach prevents him. Amari doesn’t seem to notice, letting out a pleased sigh before leaning over him. His eyes widen as they practically crawl in his lap, a thousand thoughts roaring, but they just grin at him when they slide back into their original position, now holding a washing cloth.

            “Tell me doctor, what would you prescribe for a patient who has a full blown panic whenever someone gets close?” They ask, clearly teasing, as they reach down to the floor to snag the jar of soap.

            “…Exposure therapy.” He says, going for ‘salacious’ but getting ‘breathless’ instead, and as his ears burn; delighted laughter rings out as they smear soap onto the cloth.

            “Should I prepare for fainting? I’d rather not have to drag an unconscious man out of a tub.”  

He wets his lips as they move to kneel in front of him, eyes shining. The air is charged, probably magic, or maybe that storm is finally considering breaking. His hands twitch underwater, definitely not shaking, and they lean close. Expectant eyes remind him that it was a question.

            “He’ll… he’ll be good.” Julian offers, immediately flushing, but they grin.

A hot hand taps a question at his knee and he freezes but his body yields to them automatically. They slip between his legs to get far, far closer than ever before.

Dimly, he wonders if maybe his analogy was a little off. Who was catching who, again? Can butterflies _hunt_?

His somewhat hysterical thought is cut off by Amari setting a hand on his shoulder, bracing him, and he bites his tongue. They scrub his chest, not roughly, with the slightly scratchy wash cloth; it’s almost… cute, how focused they are, their eyes examining his skin critically as they clean him. He can almost forget that they’re both naked, in a tub, with them just short of straddling his lap, as they painstakingly clean his chest.

But not _quite_ forget. He couldn’t, not with the soft sounds of splashing, the warm water licking at his torso, and the smooth feeling of them between his legs. He fidgets under their firm touch and swears he hears the ghost of a chuckle before, suddenly, they’re fully skin to skin, their chest pressed against his. His hands fly up, water splashing noisily onto the floor, and then hover above their sides.

            “Relax, _doctor_. We’re both adults.” A breath against his ear before they resume washing him; he barks out a laugh, shaking them both, and sets his hands lightly on their hips.

If he focuses really, _really_ hard, and also never thinks that word again, he may get out of this without embarrassing himself. He just needs to not think about the warmth curling between them, the frictionless glide of their skin against his, the soft hinting of brea- he strangles the thought.

            “I don’t suppose you give all our patients this level of… care.” Julian manages and gets a puff of warm amusement against his neck.

 _Really_ focuses. Just willing his _entire_ body limp. Unconsciously, his hands tense on them and they hum; soft touches burn against his spine, chased by the washcloth.

            “Only when they really _need_ it.” Amari says as they explore his back. “Do you?” A question, purred against his throat and a hand slides up the back of his neck, fingers curling, and he goes very, very still.

If this had been years ago, when they first became friends, he could have been ready for this. Or even just a few months ago, before the plague had well and truly snuffed out hope. He would have had a snappy line, keep the flirting going, or maybe even just taken the invitation, unspoken but obvious. But here, now. With them tight against his body, _almost_ holding each other, all he can feel is his heartbeat and… and fear.

Outside, the clouds boil, and the handful of wanderers still on the streets rush for shelter. Amari pulls back when he doesn’t answer, and he wants to draw them close again, but lets them go, instead.

He hadn’t been reading into things. They _were_ flirting, not jokingly, and a sudden thought occurs that they definitely had been years ago too, but… it was too late, now. They had given so much, he would cherish this night, but the clinic would need to open early to make up for their absence, it must be so late, they can’t be… wasting time, here, with him.

He opens his mouth to say all of this, or something at least, the silence is agonizing, but freezes when he meets silver, pained eyes. Quickly hidden, covered by worry, but he knows what he saw.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” They start, pushing away from him, and he can see the mental self-lecture.

They’ve quite a sharp tongue, when they get angry; he doesn’t expect that they soften their words when directed at themselves.

            “Yes.” Julian says, a hundred things coming to mind but none making it to his mouth, and they look confused.

He opens his arms and swallows, feeling as vulnerable as… well, a naked man in a tub. After a bare second, painfully long, they slide forward again, water sloshing, but neither notice. They’re busy watching each other, looking for any hint of rejection, until finally they’re together again and he shudders as light hands dance along his sides.

            “You asked… I.” Lips press into his shoulder, slipping against damp skin and he sighs, feeling himself sink into the comfort they offer. “Yes. I do.”

Amari trails barely-there kisses up the tense shoulder, along his neck, until they reach his jawline. Their arms are loop loosely around his neck.

            “Then… let me take care of you.” A request, full of promise, and then their forehead presses against his.

Affection, eagerness, and more emotions Julian doesn’t even know how to name let alone parse are all shining in their eyes as they wait, patiently. He knows he’s shaking, he can hear water dripping on the floor, and he reaches desperately for a reply.

Something clever, something that’ll make them laugh. Or kiss him, maybe.

But this really _isn’t_ right, they shouldn’t be taking care _of him_. His fingers itch to explore them, to please them, and then their eyes lid. They lean just a bit closer. He’d chew on his lip but that would mean moving and maybe would break whatever spell they were casting, so he stays perfectly still.

He can feel their breath, almost cool on his heated face, and a soft, needy noise whines in his throat before he can choke it back. It’s almost painful, having them so close, their lips _almost_ against his, but they stay there. Their eyes are closed, shielding him from the intensity of their gaze, while they wait, frozen, ready to be kissed if he can only bear to make it that last millimeter.

For a moment, he can’t do more than stare, transfixed, but the ache in his chest compels him forward. The instant their lips touch, Amari surges into him, pulling him tight against them and crawling properly into his lap. Apparently, they are quite done with the gentle touches, as he finds himself being very thoroughly plundered.

He recalls their careful notes and dedication to their studies and wonders if he’s being catalogued as well.

That thought is confirmed when they pull back, tilt their head with a thoughtful expression, and then reclaim his lips; he laughs shakily as hands slide along his sides, almost tickling. Amari releases him from the kiss, ducking their head to nibble along his neck, and he tries to catch his breath.

            “So… this _was_ an attempt at my vir-tue.” They nip his ear, making his voice pitch, and then pull away to look at him

They are… delighted. Their smile is so broad it crinkles their eyes and they can’t seem to stop stroking him, their hands trailing everywhere they can reach.

            “Naturally. You’re a tricky man to seduce, you know. Throwing myself at you was quite literally the last idea in a _long_ series of plans.” He raises his eyebrows, grinning.

            “Me? _Tricky_? Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?” Julian leans forward into their space and they reach up cup his cheeks, bringing him closer.

            “I seem to recall _you_ waiting until I was naked, in your lap, and halfway kissing you.” They murmur, eyes twinkling, and he opts to bring them together again rather than respond.

It’s no less thorough than before, but definitely more passionate, and a hand fists in his hair to ensure he stays right where they want him, as though he had any intentions of leaving.

Selfish though it was, he knew deep down he would not be able to leave. Not tonight, anyhow. In the morning light, he should. But, tonight…

            “Stop thinking.” A light growl, punctuated by a teeth to his throat, and he swallows a surprised noise. “Be here. With me.”

Silver eyes catch the flickering light and that, that he can do. He crushes them together, getting an approving noise, and lets Amari have their way with his mouth. Teeth catch his lip, hands demandingly holding him so tight that when his lungs strain for air, all he can do is twist his head; his scalp stings where they grip his hair and they ravage his neck.

He’ll have bruises, definitely, and hickies too. He can’t restrain his gasps of mixed pain and pleasure while they seem intent on setting his blood roaring through his body. He’s pushed forward, insistently, and they make an irritated noise when they seem to, all at once, realize that they’re still in a too-small tub.

Julian finds himself suddenly released, cold with their abrupt absence, and looks up to see them already halfway across the room. They pick up a towel and, in a flash, they’re back to his side.

And, somehow, before he can so much as _try_ to get out of the tub, they have him hauled up, toweled off, and then into their arms to be carried, bridal style. He stares owlishly up at them, peers over their shoulder, and then back to them, words stolen by the incredibly fast transition.

They are _deeply_ pleased. It radiates off of them like heat off a fire.

It has to look ridiculous, a not-even-five-foot tall person cradling the over-six-foot one, but… he hooks an arm around their neck, chewing the inside of his cheek. There’s no _small_ thrill at them just… picking him up, to take him however they’d like.

            “Whatever are you planning now, my dear?” He asks and gets a lecherous grin.

Water drips as they walk, and Julian absently feels a little bad of the mess they’re making on his behalf, but… it is _very_ nice being carried like this. He had known they were strong, they often helped move patients, but just clean-lifting him out of a tub?

His hand wraps around their bicep, squeezing the flexed muscle lightly, and he feels his already-red cheeks tinge just a little darker. He gets an amused look as he wets his lips.

How many other secrets talents was Amari keeping? …How many would they show him?

Amari stops once they reach their bed and then they tap their foot on the frame, twice. The blankets all shove to one side, half-folding amongst themselves, and they turn and slide into the bed, their back at the headboard and Julian still curled in their lap.

They let out a sigh, casting two disparate spells at once always feels weirdly like suddenly dropping into the splits, but they’ve no regrets. Julian’s reaction was worth it and, given the hot looks he kept shooting them, he has no idea that it was about 90% magic carrying him.

And they’ll never, ever tell.

            “Where were we again?” They ask, all false consideration, and Julian twists in their lap to sit up, pressing them back into the wood lightly. “Ah, yes. Taking care of my favorite doctor.”

He covers them with himself and they fairly giggle at his eagerness; they kiss once, twice, a hundred times probably, pulling away whenever it starts to deepen, only to catch his lips again.

But then he sets his hands on their face to keep them still and finally he gets the proper, passionate kiss he was looking for. They push forward and he holds them, a muffled moan rippling through him as their hands stroke firmly down his back. They don’t stop moving until he’s lying down, hands interlocked behind their head, and they’re pressed _gloriously_ full-bodied against him.

He feels a throb of need and swallows, looking up at them. They’re resting their forehead against his, eyes closed, and they take a slow breath. When they open their eyes again, Julian is struck first by the ocean of lust simmering there and then by the bare adoration; he’s not sure which is making his heart race so fast.

            “You are _very_ distracting… I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” They murmur, no reproach, and he pulls them down into another lengthy kiss.

            “Great job.” He pants as they break to lick a stripe down his neck. “I am very,” They’re sucking a mark into the hollow of his throat. “Very taken care of.”

They hum, clearly disbelieving, and he shivers as he feels a hand snake between them. Light fingers trace the line of his cock, pressed against their stomach, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip to muffle the needy noise.

            “So… you don’t want me to take care of this?” Amari asks, rolling enough of their weight onto their free hand to lift up slightly, and their eyes dance with mischief.

Their hand wraps around his now-freed cock, just enough to tease, but far too loose to be satisfying.

            “I, uh.” He’s fighting a losing battle against his eyelids and hips; they want to shut and thrust, respectively, but Amari’s holding his gaze with all the firmness he’d like on his cock and something instinctive says that he’s not _allowed_ to thrust, yet.

They squeeze him, then trail their hand all around, smearing pre-come, and he can’t suppress the whimper.

            “Yes, plea-” Julian lets his eyes droop as his face burns, but his voice is as eager as it is wanton. “I, I _need_ ,” Their lips on his neck stop him and they take him properly in hand.

            “Tell me what you need, and it’s yours.” A promise, sealed with a kiss, and he twists his head to catch their lips.

Amari is careful, giving just enough pressure to be pleasurable, but making sure he’s not reaching the brink too fast. They’d been wanting this for far too long to be satisfied with a just a few pumps of their hand.

And given the hungry way Julian keeps stealing kisses, they suspect he feels similarly.

            “Amari,” Pleading and they slow their hand, just a bit.

            “Julian.” They murmur into his mouth, fingers fluttering on his cock, and smiling his twitchy not-thrusts. “Tell me what you need.”

            “You.” His hands are on their hips, tight on the edge of painful, and they nip his bottom lip; they give him a few quick jerks, pleased, and he whines.

            “How do you want me?” Amari whispers into his ear, feeling their own body demanding, but shoves it down.

            “I want, ple _ase_.” His eyes shutter and then reopen, bright. “Let me, I want to make you feel good.”

A sharp spike of arousal spears them as he almost begs to please them and they steal his mouth in a searing kiss. His fingers dig pointily into their flesh, but they hardly notice.

            “You have me.” Amari nips him and then pulls back, to look at him.

His cheeks are flushed deep red and his eyes are alight with lust and need. He wets kiss-swollen lips at their perusal. Amari gives him a long, deep look, letting their approval show. Then they slide backwards, off of him, until they’re back at the head of the bed, leaning against the smooth wood.

They hold out their hand and he rushes for it; they laugh and pull him close.

            “You’ve already made me feel _very_ good.” They whisper as he settles on his knees, swaying.

Their skin is pinked, practically glowing, and they set his hand on their chest. Their heartbeat is off and away, excitement obvious, and his fingers ache to touch them, properly.

            “Are you waiting for permission?” Amari asks, reaching out to take his other, clenched hand.

            “I,” he starts but stops when they use his hand to cup their breast, eyes lidded.

His mouth is dry and their legs open, encircling him. He can’t resist looking and stares, transfixed, at their glistening sex. Amari bites their lip at the naked want on his face.

            “Julian,” He tears his eyes away to look at them and swallows as he tries to meet their gaze. “Tell me what you _need_.” Their voice has gone husky and they want to just grab him, get this _really_ going, but they resist.

They’ll do this _right_ or not at all.

            “I want to touch you,” He shudders, the hand at their breast giving a soft knead, without their guidance. “I _need_ to,” He sways, again, and his other hand trails, slowly, down their side. “Please.” A breathless whimper and he feels heels pressing into the back of his thighs; Amari’s legs spread impossibly wider.

            “Touch me. Make me feel good.”

Julian falls onto them immediately, not needing the guiding press of their heels, and Amari half-laughs as they find themselves with an armful of trembling, excited doctor. A sloppy kiss steals the noise away, lacking his usual finesse but they don’t mind, especially not with him finally growing bold as they push into his touch.

He roves over their body, mapping out what makes them hiss, twitch, and swallow back groans. He feels _urgent_ , almost feverish, as he trails down their body, the siren call of their sex irresistible.

Perhaps a better lover would draw this out more, but once his face inches from his goal, he spares only the moment necessary to first hook their legs over his shoulders and then look up, needing that one last bit of permission. Amari’s teeth are sunk deep into their lower lip, silver eyes gone dark with desire, and prop themselves up on an elbow so they can reach down to card their fingers through his hair.

            “Is that what you need?” Barely a voice anymore, just a rumble of arousal, and he nods, feeling his eyes lid.

            “Yesss…” He feels almost dizzy and a soft pressure at the back of his head makes him bow.

            “Don’t make me come.” Julian hears the permission in their voice, but the warning is on deaf ears.

He buries himself into their sex, feeling slick wetness smear over his face, and lets out a low groan at the taste of their lust.

Amari lets their head fall back as he traces his tongue along their entrance. They roll their hips, just a little, and force themselves to not clench his hair. Or shove him down. They attempt calming breaths that are quickly ruined by him suckling at their clit.

They moan, unrestrained, and he shudders at the sound of their pleasure. His tongue laves at their most sensitive spots and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of their ass, trying to somehow pull them closer.

            “Harder.” The hand at his head pushes him down and he obeys, immediately.

Julian follows their orders with delight- harder, faster, more tongue, no teeth- until they can barely restrict themselves from humping his face. He feels them twitching and pulls off their clit, the suction breaking makes an obscene slurping noise. They’re getting close, their beautifully unmuffled cries getting more ardent, and he wants to see them there.

He redoubles his efforts, ignoring the hand fisting his hair. They had given him clear instructions on how best to pleasure them and he uses it against them.

His name falls from their lips, again and again, breathy and wanting and like the sweetest music. The hand pulls him again and he’d sooner have it tear his hair out than relinquish his prize; he hears several colorful swears and then he’s forced down. Both hands are at the back of his head, now, keeping him there, and he’d grin if he wasn’t busy keeping his teeth out of the way while they grind against him.

Amari’s thighs tighten around his head and if he dies here, smothered, then so be it. He ignores the burning of his lungs as he lets them fuck his face. They’re desperate now, writhing in abandon, until they reach their edge. They come with a sharp cry, nails scraping his scalp, and he loves them with his tongue to prolong their orgasm as much as possible, even as dark spots start to spark at the edges of his vision.

Slowly, shakily, their legs slip off his shoulders, and he lets them go with some regret even as he sucks in great lungfuls of air. He’s pulled upwards and he crawls, eagerly, into their embrace. Sated eyes, with an unexpected hard edge, examine him before his mouth is claimed in a deep, hungry kiss.

            “I told you _not_ to make me come.” A murmur as they drag their cheek across his, their own slick smearing on their face, and Julian swallows.

He reaches back across memory and then nods. They had said that.

He’s rolled off of them, a hand pressing insistently until he’s flat on his back, and Amari straddles his waist. One finger traces a pattern along his chest as they examine him, eyes lidded.

            “Which means you…?” Their voice lilts as they look down at him; their free hand takes his cock and he has to drag his eyes away from that to meet their gaze.

He swallows at the intensity he finds there, lust somehow having quadrupled despite the recent orgasm, and knows what they want.  

            “Disobeyed.” He finishes and the word sends a thrill through him, even though it shouldn’t, and their hand twists over his cock.

They stay like that for a few moments, the only sounds being Julian trying not whine, the soft drag of skin on slicked skin, and ragged breathing.

            “You will not come,” His heart stutters and they bend down, touching his cheek. “Until I let you.”

Relief, immediately, they wouldn’t leave him like this, and fond eyes meet his before an oddly sweet kiss steals his lips.

It turns heated quickly, but that aching tenderness was nice. The tight jacking of his cock though, that was nicer, and he nearly bit through his lip as he shoves down his orgasm. A light chuckle and then a kiss against his neck.

            “Good.” They push up again, after pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and then raise themselves over him. “Remember,” They start and their hand guides his cock even as it twitches, eager. “You come when _I_ say so.” They ghost their sodden entrance over his cock, eyes lidded but still meeting his.

He nods and then groans as they descend, swiftly. He’s engulfed in a burning heat, but valiantly, he manages to resist the urge to thrust. Hands flutter over his chest and he can hear a slight whine in the air, but he’s no idea who made the noise.

A moment of adjustment, and then Amari moves. It’s slow at first and they have to stop to guide his hands to their body; his hands squeeze their small hips as they start to bounce.

Julian can barely keep his eyes open, wanting to lose himself to the sensation, but watching Amari as they pleasure themselves on his body is… he can’t get enough. He wets his lips and they throw their head back with a lusty moan.

He has to distance himself from the feeling. He’d have come by now, probably more than once even with the need to recover, but the clear order makes him stamp down his need. Their pleasure is his, as much as his body aches for release.

            “Kiss me.” A demand and he surges up to meet them.

They pant into his mouth in between wet kisses, their hands bracing on his shoulders, and he’s able to wrap himself around them. It’s better like this, chest to chest, even if they can’t properly ride him.

Amari yanks his head back so they can sink their teeth into his neck, again, and he is going to have to get some higher collared shirts to hide these marks, even if the idea of being publicly claimed made his heart race.

            “Just… little more.” They hiss into his neck and he clutches them tighter.

They’re shaking in his grasp and he can feel their frantic pace bucking slightly off-rhythm. He risks slipping a hand between them to press two knuckles against their clit, providing just a little extra stimulation with every grinding half-bounce. He’s rewarded immediately with a throaty groan and then they bite at his lips, demanding.

            “With me.” They hiss as they pick up the pace, grinding their sex against his quivering fingers. “Jul _ian_.”

His name is an oath, like a prayer, and he tries not to whimper; he chases their mouth, unwilling to relinquish the contact, even though they both need air.

They kiss messily, wet noises filling the room alongside the sharp sounds of pleasure. Amari’s teeth sink into the tender junction of neck and shoulder, muffling their cry, and the clenching flutter of their orgasm against his cock forces his own.

Julian has no such gag and lets out a wavering groan as he spills into them, chasing at their heels as they both go over the cliff, together. Their mouth slides over his, not quite a kiss, neither of them coordinated enough, but the intent is there and his hands grasp their hips tight enough to bruise.

Long, ragged moments pass as they both unwind and then Amari nudges him, gently, so they fall into the bed, still holding one another. Julian feels them wriggle on top of him so they can bury their face in his neck, with a pleased sigh. He manages enough energy to set a hand on the small of their back before his eyes drift shut.

They lay there for a while, until he’s dragged back to consciousness. Amari’s pressing soft kisses into his neck but there’s a strange swirling sensation following each drag of their lips.

            “Just healing the bites.” Amari murmurs, sensing his confusion. “I got a little… carried away.” Julian snorts and then weaves his fingers through their hair, tugging them away.

There’s a sleepy softness to them now, but their eyes are rich in what he can only describe as devotion, and it makes him nervous as much as it warms him.

            “Leave them.” He says and they push forward, stealing a sweet kiss. “Something to remember this by.” He sighs as they trail kisses up his jawline, obliging his request.

            “I should probably apologize about, ah.” There’s something like nervousness in their voice, unusual, and he turns his head, quirking an eyebrow. “The punishment thing? I kind o-”

            “Whatever the opposite of apologizing is, do that.” Julian interrupts and they blink; he flashes a smile towards them. “While I didn’t expect _you_ to enjoy something like that… I did.”

Whatever they reply is lost into his shoulder, but it’s followed by a kiss, so he lets it go.

The temperature’s dropped again, but he’s quite cozy here in Amari’s bed. If he listens close, he can hear the sound of rain, pouring from above. They snuggle tight against his side, face hidden, but he can feel them smiling against his skin.

Thunder booms and they both flinch. Amari chuckles.

            “Guess the old weather witch was right.” Julian looks at them as they resettle on his chest, closing their eyes. “She said the storm would just keep brewing. Wouldn’t break ‘til the moment someone finally did something.” He stares incredulously at them.

            “…Are you suggesting that the storm broke because of _us_?” They snort.

            “No, the weather witch did. The one who sometimes shouts doomsday predictions, outside the bakery? She’s the one who suggested I bathe you, though at the time I figured it was just because you stank.” He shook his head, flushing, but they don’t notice.

            “The storm broke because it was time.” He mutters. “Otherwise droughts wouldn’t be such a big problem.” Amari laughs at that and gives him a fond look; they reach up to touch his cheek.

            “Well, either way, I’m glad we’re in here and not out there.” They nod at the window and they both look to see what appears to be a river pour from the sky.

            “That, that we can agree on.” A sleepy hum and then they sigh, rolling off of him, but he snatches them back and immediately pulls them close again. “Where are you going?”

            “I really should clean up. And, ah, _clean up_.” They say, but nuzzle against his chest, feeling soft hairs tickle their nose, and peer up at him. “I’ll be quick. Promise.” Julian presses a kiss to the top of their head, clutching them tight, but then releases.

            “I suppose.” He grumbles and their eyes crinkle.

They hop out of bed and slip away; he watches their back- well, their backside if he’s honest- as they disappear down the hall and then has to muffle a laugh when he hears skidding and a yelp. They must’ve slipped.

            “Did we keep _any_ water in the tub?!” Amari shouts and he laughs freely, sitting up in bed.

            “It was the weather witch’s idea!” He replies and looks around.

He spies a towel, forgotten on the floor, and fetches it to quickly mop up the trail of water they had made to the bed, and then tiptoes down the hall to lean against the wall and watch Amari.

They stand in the middle of the room, a slight frown of concentration creasing their brow. Water swirls in the air, a snake-like river, and Amari holds one hand aloft while the other directs the flow. A stomp of their foot opens the window, raindrops bending at a sharp angle as they’re not allowed in the house. Then the bathwater flows gently outward, unwinding the spiral, until the floor is both clean and dry. They nod at the window, which shuts smartly, and turn to Julian, a flicker of surprise before they drop into a quick bow.

            “And that is why kinetic magic is the best.” He claps for them and they grin, quickly crossing the room.

            “If you ever bore of the clinic, you have a bright future as an entertainer.” Julian says and they laugh.

            “I’ll add it to the list of terrible ideas. I think you’ve got a book of them now.” He pouts at them but they just drag him off, back to the bedroom. “Aunt Areli would have my _hide_ if I started selling magic tricks. She’d be back from the dead in a minute.”

He recalls the intense woman, who had once glared a stampede of cattle into stopping. And he was there for that, so he couldn’t even claim it was made up.

            “That’s… probably true.” He concedes and then Amari is shoving him into bed, making him laugh as he snags them, ensuring they both fall.

Julian twists to better cuddle against them and they smile up at him, pleased.

            “So, we’re back in bed… and the sea is currently retaking Vesuvia.” Amari’s eyes glitter at him and he strokes down their back. “According to her, you should be finally happy.”

“As always, Areli is right.” The hidden, but not quite entirely, shine of adoration in their eyes makes Julian’s heart skitter and he covers himself smoothly with an incorrigible grin.

“Since we’re stuck here until it stops… whatever shall a lone doctor and his very naughty assistant do?”

They slide up his chest to steal a long, sweet kiss, but they’re both far too sated to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion is lurking at the corner of Julian’s eyes and he knows they can see it. Their forehead rests against his, warm eyes soft on his face, and he hopes that his affection for them is equally clear.

            “That vigor draught should be coming to the end, there. I think it’s time for you to rest.” They murmur.

Ah, a potion. Probably in the chocolate drink… That would explain how swiftly he recovered when they reached the shop. He should be mad, probably, but can only muster up a feeling of deep contentment, a strange sense of being cared for.

The bed dips as they move and he’s drawn down, to rest his head against their breast, and a lengthy sigh pushes through him. A hand strokes his hair as he listens to the steady thrum of their heartbeat. They flick their fingers and the candles wink out; he lets his eyes drift shut as Amari starts to hum a comforting tune, petting him gently. Between the vigorous _activities_ , the exhaustion of the day, and their almost suffocating comfort, he’s asleep in moments.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Julian rouses slowly, unwillingly, to the smell of spices. He reaches out, blindly, and finds the bed empty and sighs, having expected it. He pushes himself up to sit and rubs his face, recollecting himself.

He’s at the shop, where Amari took him after that home visit. The rain’s still going outside, but he feels more rested than he has since the plague began, so it’s definitely not still night. He opens his eyes and looks around the room.

Several candles provide gentle light as the still-heavy clouds keep the sun under firm lock and key. Amari isn’t here, and he can’t hear anything except the quiet crackle of the fire and the puttering sound of rain, so he shoves off the bed. He sways a moment and then his eyes fall on the bedside table. It had been covered in books last night, but they have been relegated to the floor. Now in their place sit his clothes, neatly folded, a steaming mug, and a small sheaf of parchment.

Julian gets dressed, first. Despite the fire, it is a little chilly here, without them. His clothes smell fresh, Amari must have found time to wash them, and he chews his lip, torn between pleased gratitude and a sudden twist of guilt.

He’ll have to find a way to thank them. Somehow.

He picks up the parchment and, after admiring their neat handwriting, reads it.

_Client needs my help, but I should be back soon. I left breakfast on the stove and the mug’s charmed to keep your coffee hot. Help yourself_

_P.S.: You’re very cute when you sleep_

It’s signed with a heart and their name, as though it could be anyone else. He folds it carefully and shoves it deep in his pocket, glad that no one was here to witness the ridiculous gesture. He picks up the mug and blows over it, the steam billows, and he can’t resist a smile as he takes a long drink.

It’s the perfect temperature, not so hot it burns, but warm enough to chase away any lingering chill. He turns to the stove and investigates, finding a richly spiced porridge.

Porridge is… decidedly not his favorite, but the spices are a huge improvement and even if it was plain gruel, he’d take it with thanks. He curls back up in the bed to eat, careful not to spill. He rather enjoys the idea of keeping their bed warm for them until they come back.

Though… He looks out the window and pauses, about to take a bite. He shouldn’t stay. It was one thing last night, it had been late and he really did need to eat and sleep and, his cheeks tinge, bathe. But the clinic will be beyond understaffed with both of them gone; if he left right now then he could make it for opening.

He could pretend he hadn’t just selfishly let himself get distracted and distracted Amari, too. They had their own shop’s clients on top of their work with him; the people needed their charms and herbal remedies as much as his medicine and science. He hadn’t understood at first, until they explained the tinctures and potions, and demonstrated the way their magic can be used in healing; how they can share their breath or, with a little instruction, even just knit wounds back together.  

He may not understand it still, but he knew it took concentration to work magic, to direct that strange, invisible energy, and they’ve never faltered, not once. The past few months, they had been steadier than the sunrise. Always catching him just before he stumbled, always knowing before he did that he needed something, never letting him sink too far into that pit of hopelessness. And not _just_ him, the other staff too. They were just always… there. Helping.

Julian stares, sightlessly, at the grey day, until the hairs rise on the nape of his neck, alerting him to another’s eyes. He turns his head and sees Amari, frowning at him, as they rub their hands together. He blinks, surprised; he hadn’t even heard the door open let alone them coming up the stairs.

            “Well, you got about halfway through helping yourself to breakfast.” They say, eyes flicking at the untouched food in front of him. “Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it, hesitating. They study him and then sigh, running a hand through damp, messy curls. They frown at their wet hand and the droplets becomes steam under their gaze. They flick it off and they move to fall gracelessly into his chair from last night.

            “Alright, I know that face… doctor.” They don’t look at him, just up at the rafters. “Why is our being together a bad idea? The plague?  The doctor/assistant thing? Or maybe just a sort of general, undefined ‘because _reasons_ , Amari’?”

The sardonic twist to their words is unlike them and he stares, shocked silent. Tired eyes turn to meet his, resigned, and they smile, but it’s not happy.

            “It’s why I waited so long to try, you know. Even though…” A wistful sigh and they turn away. “Makes me wish I was braver when we were friends. Before.” A glance out of the corner of their eye and he swallows. “But it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want to interrupt what I’m sure will be a fascinating lecture, doctor.”

The room falls silent and Amari resumes staring resolutely at the ceiling while Julian tries to recover from the wind being so firmly removed from his sails. But, eventually, he finds his tongue.

            “It’s… this isn’t the right time. Last night was,”

            “If what you’re about to say is followed by a ‘but’, don’t say it. We both _know_ what last night was.” He balks at the harsh tone and then nods, acquiescing.

            “I don’t regret it. But I, we… we have to be focused. The plague, and one of us could get sick!” His stomach twists at those words but he continues on. “If… if it were another time.”

Julian almost lets himself imagine that, but there’s a squeal of protest from the chair as Amari shoves themselves off it, to stand. They still don’t look at him.

            “Very well, doctor. Kindly lock the door when you leave, I’ve more clients to see today.” They step smartly around his legs to reach past him to a red scarf on the windowsill; he can only feel his heart beating, breaking?, at their non-reaction. “I’ll be at the clini-”

They stop and look at him, shocked; he looks down at realizes he’s snatched their wrist as they went by. The seconds tick and he tilts upwards, meeting their gaze, to see all the emotions that their voice lacks.

An incredible gulf of sadness, drowning out the luster of their eyes, and longing, too. He’s hurt them, he knew that as he did it, but seeing the result in front of him? He can barely catch his breath. They unwind his grip from their wrist and he lets them; they step back and turn away.

            “The clinic. I’ll be back by this afternoon.” Amari finishes, finally, and their head tilts down.

They stare at their favorite scarf, tightly gripped in their hands. A gift, from Asra, after the thousandth time they stole his, and the only thing from him that they couldn’t bear to part with. Everything else they had shoved on that chair and pushed away, ignoring its presence as much as they ignored his absence. It brings them no comfort now, but they clutch it anyways.

            “Amari,” Julian starts, and they hear the bed creak as he stands up, and they school their face before they turn.

Aunt Areli’s voice sounds in their head: their magic would always be reactive to their emotions, even more so than another magic-user. It’s what makes their magic so strong.

It’s what makes them so weak.

            “Yes, doctor?”

They can see the heartbreak on his face but resist the urge to soothe it; isn’t that how they wound up in this mess to begin with?

            “…Please just talk to me.” Julian asks, softly, and they clench their jaw, looking away.

            “Is there a point?” A somewhat hysterical laugh seizes their throat and if they don’t relax their hand, the scarf is going to rip. “Last time I tried to talk someone into staying, I may as well have been arguing with a wall. At least this way I can pretend I have dignity.” The last part isn’t meant for his ears and he swallows.

            “I’m not Asra.” He says, firmly.

He would never have _abandoned_ Amari, not like this. They snort and start pacing around the room.

            “No, you’re not. You just tell me that things are over; he lets me _pretend_ it was a discussion. Of course, you actually waited to say goodbye before you left.” They freeze and he doesn’t like the wild light in their eyes. “Areli was right!” A finger is leveled at his chest as decidedly unhappy grin twists their face. “She _said_ I was only attracted to people who would leave me!”   

They fall into giggles and then sway in the air. They drop down, suddenly, to sit on the ground, burying their head in their scarf as their shoulders wrack. Even though the sound is muffled… he’s pretty sure they’re not laughing anymore.

He almost wishes he let them keep that calm façade.

Gingerly, he comes to sit next to them and hesitatingly strokes a hand down their back, feeling the hiccupping sobs through their tense form.

            “I’m sorry.” Julian says, inadequate, but after several long moments, they start to settle.

They turn their head to look at him and his heart clenches at the red-rimmed eyes, open with pain.

            “You’re not wrong. That’s what’s so… awful. This _isn’t_ the right time. In the right time…” Their eyes grow distant as they see a different world and he wishes he could join them there. “In the right time, you wouldn’t have taken so long to come home. I’d still join you at the clinic, but because I like learning and I like being with you, not because of the damn plague. And we’d go dancing and drinking and do stupid, kind of illegal things.”

Julian smiles at that, recalling all the mischief they had gotten up to, and their aunt’s constant griping about who’s worse for who.

            “And it’d be just like old times?” Their eyes soften.

            “Yeah. Except I’d actually ask you out, instead of just making eyes at you and hoping you’d get the idea.” Their hand reaches for him and he entwines their fingers.

They both sit there, lost in their thoughts of this fantasy world where red was just a color. A question buzzes at Julian and, finally, he cannot resist it. They have a white-knuckled grip on the scarf, even as they hold his hand, and he can hardly look away from it.    

The final year they were friends, before he had to leave, and when Asra joined their picture. A fine enough friend, he had thought, until he saw what was blossoming between the two. He had known, that day, as he sailed away from Vesuvia, that when he returned, they’d be together.

            “What about Asra?” He doesn’t clarify, but he doesn’t need to; Amari opens their eyes to study him before dropping his hand and the scarf.  

            “We were all friends, weren’t we, then?” They straighten up and swipe at their face; they look down at their tear-damp hands. “I don’t know. Didn’t know then, don’t know now. I love him. I love _you_.” A huff of breath and they meet his eyes again. “Apparently, only one of you is allowed in Vesuvia at a time, which is… something.”

They’re still talking, but Julian isn’t listening. Their words echo in his head: They _love_ him.

            “I know he’ll be back, if only because he left half his stuff behind, but part of me wants to not be here. Leave a note ‘hey, decided to pull a you’ and run off.”

 _Amari_ loves _him_. Love.

            “And I miss him! But I, I loved you first. And I missed you the whole time you were gone an-” They look at him and then groan. “And you’re not even listening. Here I am, having this really emotional moment…” They sigh and wait for him to catch up.

            “You… love me?” Julian asks in a strange voice, distantly guilty at their annoyance, and they raise an eyebrow.

            “Yes, Julian. And let me tell yo-”

He presses forward, muffling their gripe with his lips, and they melt a little as he pulls them into a tender kiss.

            “I love you, too.” Julian says, seriously, and even though it isn’t a _surprise_ , they’ve felt the mutual-ness pulsing through him for _ever_ now, their eyes tear up anyways and they tug him back to kiss him again.

And to hide their face. They’ve cried enough, thanks.

Several gentle kisses later find the pair curled around one another on the warming floor; Amari’s head resting on his shoulder.

            “I don’t suppose that that _changes_ anything.” They say, softly, damned hope in their chest.

Julian doesn’t answer for a long time.

It… shouldn’t. If anything, it should make him more firm. Love, in a plagued city? Why not just build your house inside a volcano. It’d have the same result.

And yet… he wants this. And they do too, he can feel it from them and they’ve said as much. He shuts his eyes and thinks of yesterday, the quiet grief of Vesuvia’s newest widow. He wonders if _they_ regret it, but he suspects the answer.

            “We really, really shouldn’t.” He sighs and feels them pull away, to look at him.

            “…but?” Amari prompts and he opens his eyes; there’s so much hope there.

How could he dash that?

            “When have we ever done as we should?”


End file.
